


The Artist and His Canvas

by aTARDISfullofotters



Series: Stars Don't Lie (but Superstars Do... Sometimes) [7]
Category: Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: F/M, Hickies, Morning, alluding to sex without saying anything direct, artist, romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 12:26:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11058969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aTARDISfullofotters/pseuds/aTARDISfullofotters
Summary: It felt so good at the time. All white fire and lust. His lips creating a trail for the righteous to follow, although what they were doing was anything but righteous. It was goddamn immoral.





	The Artist and His Canvas

**Author's Note:**

> I blame whispering-imp for the style of this - she's rubbing off on me.  
> Based on [this photo](https://twitter.com/ringmybe11e/status/868113455575949312), which I saw, and although I was intending to write a scholarship essay, I wrote this instead.

It felt so good at the time. All white fire and lust. His lips creating a trail for the righteous to follow, although what they were doing was anything but righteous. It was goddamn immoral. Pure sin. Words had failed. Silent screams lifted from their lips – she felt as if she was touched by an angel. He felt as if she _was_ an angel.

When the morning sun peeked through the blinds, white light onto white sheets, they had roused. He kissed her neck, gently bringing her to the land of the living. She giggled at his hair, and god how he loved that sound. An angel gets his wings every time she laughs. It reminded him of sunflowers and fresh air. The sheet slipped lower on her small body, and he got his first look at his temporary masterpiece. Patches of black and blue dotted her pale skin – she was a dot to dot puzzle for only him to solve.

“Jesus, did I do that? I’m so sorry, that must sting-“

She shushed him.

“It’s my artwork to enjoy – a piece of you to remain with me.”

She was his masterpiece, an angel for him to worship. He would not rest until every piece of her was worshipped lest she be unsatisfied.

She was a goddess, and he made the pilgrimage to her temple to worship, to fall on his knees and pray. God, she was beautiful. And she was his, and he was hers.


End file.
